Underwood (11 page)

Tony Griffiths had finished his job for today, he had never known it so quiet and wondered how long it would be before the sheriff wanted to make some changes, he had never had it so easy, he could eat as much as he liked, though the choices weren’t always there, he always had a well-stocked fridge and larder, there was plenty of home brew which he indulged in most nights, and if it wasn’t for the woods and the three that run this community, Underwood would be a fantastic place to live, he always said that, and he knew, he was the only one who did having lived here before and after the change.

He pushed the Avensis into position and put a “for sale” sign on it, he laughed to himself as he always did, it was his own private joke, he had done it many times before but still laughed, it was his own kind of reality check, he looked around his yard, the car lot had over a 100 cars for sale, the Avensis the newest and by far the most modern, Tony thought that most of them should be in a museum, only Underwood didn’t have a museum, Underwood didn’t have much of anything, it was a fairly nice day, a few grey clouds in the sky, but they didn’t look full of rain and the slight breeze was warm and comforting, he had become quite settled over the years, the three people in charge never really bothered him as long as he was there to repair whatever it was needed repairing, he had no family now, his wife dying 5 years ago, and as he stood and looked around his car lot, he thought about Alice, as he very often did, it was the cancer that took her according to the doctor, her last few months riddled with pain as she was doped up with cannabis, and the one day he walked in to see her on her death bed, for the first time her eyes didn’t look at him, they were just staring into space as she lay on the bed, her body arched in pain, and the silent scream of agony on her face made him take the pillow and press it over her head until she could feel the pain no more, and he will never forget holding her hand after her last breath, tears streaming down his face, not so much for the death of his wife that he had loved ever since he was a teen, the tears flowed because he wished he had the courage to do it earlier and end her suffering.

He blamed himself for her death, the cancer may not have taken her away if it had not been for Underwood, the day Underwood changed, Tony was still convinced that the close by steelworks had somehow blown up and caused this holocaust, it created Underwood and the evil that lie within it, he wondered how many died from the explosion, he himself had been a fitter in those works, repairing the broken down kit, they had been good years, he guessed those that died were the lucky ones, he was sure that the Llanwern steelworks was gone now, along with the rest of the world, but how could that be, where did the new family come from, there was never no smoke from the furnaces or the ovens that he remembered so well, sometimes the fields and trees a yellow colour from what the works threw out, no there was no smoke or steam, no noise as the blast furnaces slipped, he looked up into the sky, clouds was all he could see, no trails from planes, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw a plane fly over Underwood, there had not been one since the explosion or whatever it was changed the world, he was sure of that, but Underwood had changed now, the old army huts that once was a 2
nd
world war prison camp was still standing, but not a prison any more, Underwood had become the new prison.

He thought about when they made him burn her body like a guy Fawkes on bonfire night, he swore his revenge at that time, his body and mind enveloped with age and anger, everyday consisted of planning on how he could take his revenge, but over the years the time had taken that away from him, the chance never came, and the longer it never came, the less important it seemed, now he stood looking at the skies hating himself for letting those thoughts diminish, but something had changed this week, and he guessed Peter Ford might have something to do with that, Tony Griffiths was thinking he might get his revenge after all, this time it wouldn’t be full of rage, anger and bitterness, this time it would be oh so sweet.

He locked the gate behind him as he walked out of the car lot, not that anyone was going to break in, he just wanted to try and live life as naturally as he could, no one could pinch the cars, not one single car had ever been sold from his car lot.

Underwood had grown over the years, once an estate now a town as they had built closer and closer to the trees, his car lot used to be by monks ditch, a brook that run through the town, now since the storm it lay besides bluebell wood.

He had no idea where it would lie next, nor did he really care, because all he really wanted to do was raise the place to the ground.

He fancied a draught beer, so that’s where he made his way to, the only bar in town, the finest homebrew money, or in his case vouchers could buy, the Underwood Social.

He took the long way and walked alongside Monks Ditch, wondering what history it had behind it, he could see the old army huts in the distance, and not for the first time he wondered why they were still standing, and when the devil took Underwood into its own grasp, why did he not leave the huts behind, he remembered playing there as a child, making dens, chasing the girls, he allowed himself a smile from the fond memories, he wondered if the answer lied within the huts, he doubted it, they were ruins of an old prison of war camp, probably held a lot of secrets, but no Devil, the largest hut had been rebuilt and converted, now its where the babies were born,

‘
The Devil’s children’

‘What can I get you’ asked Trish Young, beer or beer’ she laughed as she pumped the homebrew into a glass, Tony wondered how many times she had asked the same question, one day he would trick her and ask for wine, but he hated the stuff, Tony took a long sip, it tasted good, better than his stuff at home, even though it was the same homebrew, it was always better when pumped and frothed from the excellent bar that Craig kept, Craig was playing pool on the worn out pool table with a man in his seventies that could barely manage to walk around the table, by the look at him Tony guessed that there would soon be another Sunday bonfire,
‘at least this one may die through old age’
he thought to himself, sat in the corner huddled close together was the towns two wino’s, two 60yrs plus woman, drinking homemade wine, Sue Bradshaw and June Murphy, Underwood’s oldest female residents, one of only a small number of original residents left, who still bore the mental scars of what happened those many years ago, the fight all gone from them, and now they buried their nightmares in the free wine that Craig Jones bestowed upon them, trying to forget, but never able to forgive, waiting for time to end, so the memories will be gone forever, he wondered what story’s they could tell if they were ever given a chance, he stood and looked at them for a little while, through all the years he had known them in the new Underwood, they had never changed, two of Underwood’s oldest residents, and probably the bravest.

Tony waived to the two wino’s in the corner, but they didn’t acknowledge, not seeing him through the blurred vision the wine had given them, he recalled them being young pretty girls that he looked up to in the old Underwood, and wondered how long it would be before all the original residents were gone and the only ones left were those born here or brought by the storms, but most of those from the storms had perished as they refused to accept their new homes, how much longer could this land survive, what was its life span. They were questions he had pondered for years, he didn’t think Underwood could go on forever, it was created in a flash so it could just as easily end in a flash, he pondered this over his pint of homebrew, he had a strange feeling that the end was near, and he would thrive on it.

Tony didn’t think that would happen to the newest recruits, he didn’t think they would perish so easily, they had a look of survival about them and he had the feeling that the future of Underwood was about to change because of them, for better or for worse, and he hadn’t had that feeling for a very long time, he thought his question might be answered soon, he just hoped he would play a part in that answer.

Peter had unblocked the drain, he had to go back to the depot in the sports centre, to get some rods, Steve Duce gave him a lift back with the rods, not saying a word as they drove the short distance, Peter sensed a nervousness about him, he guessed he was like everyone else in Underwood, living in fear, because there didn’t seem to be much hope around, Peter was beginning to have a new respect for those he met, there didn’t seem to be a lot of loyalty in Underwood, but he had to be careful in who he befriended, and the ever smiling bus driver would not be one of them.

Unblocking drains was not his usual work but he cleared it never the less and as he stood checking the flow, a thought occurred to him ‘
where do they lead’.
He wasn’t aware of any outlet, if they flowed outside of Underwood it could mean, ‘
A possible way out’
that intrigued him, he wondered if there was a map of the drainage system anywhere, somehow he doubted it, but he couldn’t do this on his own, ‘
maybe I won’t have to’.

He took his tool bag and the rods back to the depot, he didn’t bother to ask Steve Duce over the radio’s they had been given, for a ride, he felt there was only to much good conversation he could have in one day, however he did have what seemed the only vehicle, other than the police cars, so it would be best to keep on the good side, his thoughts were deep as he walked from the depot to his new home, his eyes were spanning the surroundings of trees, trees, and more trees, he thought again about the Underwood sign “one way in, no way out” he refused to believe it, he let his mind wander to places he had no control of.

He soon found himself home, not really remembering walking that distance, it reminded him of his sat nav, when he would be driving and the sat nav would suddenly announce “you have arrived at your destination” and he could never remember how he got there, that’s how he felt then as he stood at the top of his path, but he knew he would never ever forget the day he arrived in Underwood, the only memory that would outweigh that one, was the one yet to come, ‘
the day they escaped from Underwood’.

No one was in the house, he noticed the kitchen door was open and he realised that he had not yet been that way to the garden, he panicked for a moment, he expected to see his family sat there waiting full of despair, hitting him with a thousand questions as soon as he walked through the door, their absence threw him a bit, he stood opened mouthed at what he saw, in the most beautiful garden he had ever seen, was his son and another lad, climbing a frame, his daughter and another girl, in their bikinis sunbathing and his wife and another woman sat at a patio table drinking wine, Nathan and Lily waived to him, and carried on doing what they were doing, Eileen and the other woman looked drunk, Eileen waived at him shouting,

‘Your tea’s in the dog’ and both woman burst out laughing,

‘
What the fucks going on’
Peter asked himself
‘why are they acting as if they are on fucking holiday’

He had not acknowledged them, he still could not quite believe what he was seeing as he stood there open mouthed’

‘Come and join us for a wine’ Eileen shouted, beckoning him over with her hand, he thought about it for a moment, the surreal event happening before his eyes was something he could not comprehend,
‘what is this fucking place’
he asked himself.

‘I’d prefer a beer’ he said, and went and got one out of the fridge.

Rolling around in the mud was one of its favourite pastimes, and today had been no exception, there was still plenty of mud due to the recent storms, and he was relishing in his favourite activities, the mud was drying on him now as he had finished playing, the warm sun caking it to his coat, he would need to wash it off, the stream they called monks ditch running through the woods was the best bet, not that cesspit in Bluebell wood, that was where they pumped all the human waste, he didn’t mind eating humans, but he wasn’t going to bathe in their shit.

He was in his natural habitat now, and he was loving it, this was where he could use all his predatory skills, and as he walked as silent as the still air, a mouse dared run out in front of him, but the mouse was no match for this cowering bruiser as in one swift move he had “clawed” him into his mouth, with claws bigger than any living animal, biting him in half, feeling the insides of the rodent pour over his tongue as he swallowed, his large tongue licked its lips, there was nothing to fear him in this part of the world, not man or beast.

Not Lion or wolf, but the strength of one and the look of the other, the beast of Underwood walked the trees, his silky grey hair glistening where the sun dare shine through the trees, the sheer weight leaving inch deep footprints in the ground he stood upon, the trees seemed to want to take a step back as he walked amid them, the birds had long disappeared over the years as they made their escape through the movement of Underwood, those that had still remained alive that is, if those that had seen him and lived to tell, they would say the first thing they saw was the yellow and black eyes, wide and evil like a hornets nest, busy and watchful, then they would see the wolf like face with a long stout and ears that stood proud, then they would say they saw its teeth, it’s long yellow stained razor sharp teeth, but no one could live to say that, as those that had been unfortunate enough to see this magnificent schemer of the jungle, no longer lived to tell the tale.

He paused his snout in the air, an animal that didn’t trust his instincts certainly perished, there was nothing in this particular jungle of his he feared, but his nose smelt fox, and they were few and far between now, and next to human, fox was his favourite meal.

Then he saw it and cowered his head at the snarling fox that lay ahead, his neck and part of his stomach eaten away, probably by other foxes, the beast thought, as the fox looked on in fear, realising that he was the beasts next meal, he scowled at the monster before him, he could do nothing else, his own wounds confining him to certain death.

A wounded animal is a dangerous animal, much better to maim and kill himself then have to deal with some other animals misgivings, hunched he inched himself towards the fox, his long pink tongue hanging to one side, spittle dripping down it’s jaw.

The fox was quick and with its last bit of energy pounced at the wolf’s face, only to feel the sharp razor teeth puncture his already half eaten neck and the beast or wolf, whatever it was that lay in the woods, finally licked his lips, when every single edible part of the fox  was gone, he carried on towards the ditch, his cheek trickled blood, the fox had caught him, he admired him for that, he was proud of this particular wood, if only he could venture outside of the wood, but the last time he done that was his downfall, forcing him to be dormant for too long, no he couldn’t venture outside of the woods, he was proud of Underwood.

After all he had recreated it.

The sheriff Allan Herapath, patted his face dry after having a wash and a shave, he noticed blood on the towel and went over to have a look in the mirror, he hadn’t noticed it at the time, but it appeared that he had cut his cheek whilst shaving and it was smudged onto his cheek, he hated looking scruffy and immediately washed his face and patted the slight nick on his cheek until it bled no more, he checked himself over in the tall mirror to make sure no drops of blood had got on his clothes, or he would have to change again, he had never cut himself shaving before, he examined the razor, it still seemed mighty sharp, but there was blood on there, his blood, he threw the razor in the bin as he stared at the reflection in the mirror, it was a while before he could see it, but when he did, he knew everything was fine.

He stepped outside his home, a house that he didn’t need or want, he lived in the last house on the right but he could see the streets were empty, most of the houses were not lived in anymore, and any people that were in the street soon go into hiding as he appeared, the fear he used to have over the people used to make him smile and inspire him, now he would just treat that fear with contempt, they were all imbocile in his opinion, hardly worth a place on this planet, never mind a starring role in Underwood, he was getting fed up of this place, he was hoping there would be changes made soon, life had become to mundane.

He walked to the bottom of the street and turned right, he had to get to the old prison of war camp, not the ones in ruins, the one that had been converted into a maternity unit, the one that supplies the population of underwood, news was that a baby had been born, and low and behold, it was a girl.

For a big man, his pace was slow, whilst everyone knew everyone in underwood, nobody acknowledged him as he walked, and they would not look at him, but they would always try to keep one eye on him, some shaking in fear, the older ones wishing he would take them, to end this sorry life, all with no exceptions, wishing him dead, no one was brave enough to try, for how do you kill the undead.

He passed by the car lot and the converted sports centre, the shopping precinct was busy, the shelves being full again since the last storm, people buying stuff they hadn’t seen for a while before the shelves run empty again, whilst the woods spun around the town of underwood the shelves would become full again, as if the storm had replenished the stocks, he wondered at that time how his maker survived the spinning tree’s, but he always seemed to do so, there must be a good place of cover for him, for when the trees did spin, the sheriff always felt safe, anyway the shelves were full now, they had been running quite low on provisions, perhaps the vicar would stop confiscating all the cigarettes now, he enjoyed a cigarette himself, but not the food, he had no need for food.

He could see the ruins of the old prisoner of war camp  , the old council estate, now turned into a town was built 15 years after the war, Underwood had been developed further since it had been overtook and apparently disappearing off the map. Some off the old ruins were untouched, crumbling from the decades of weather, he wondered if the young Allan Herapath, the Real Allan Herapath used to play in them as a child, but his memory would not go back that far, it could not, the old water tower stood out from the rest, not a blot on the landscape, but a piece of this once fine town’s history, he wondered what it would have been like to be a prisoner in that camp, a bit like being in Underwood, but he suspected the prisoners weren’t treated as well as those in Underwood, except for those that were sent to the woods of course, he wondered if any Germans had died there, not that it really mattered to him, he had no nationality other than sheriff.

He could see the entrance of the rebuilt maternity hospital now, the old ruins behind him, no windows adorned the building, just roof skylights, there was no sign saying what the building was, there was no need to highlight this place, it was just a place where the daughters were born and cared for, and every second son fed to the woods, he opened the door to the small building, feeling good as Underwood had a new daughter.

It just might make sure that Underwood lasted a little bit longer.

Along the thin corridor was an office housing equipment, and five other rooms for patients, that’s where Hayleigh Price was, in the Office, she had been the only nurse on duty for the delivery, the others having some well earnt sleep, there being no telephones she couldn’t call for assistance, a siren was all they had, the horror of it all just being lessened when she saw the birth of the girl, she didn’t know how she would cope if this girl had another boy, she had had 4 already, a fifth would have been better off born dead, and as the baby was being born, that’s what Hayleigh thought she would do, if it had been a boy, she would have took its last breath, it had to be better than the fete that awaited it, but a bouncing baby girl was born, if only her mother had lived to see it, the fifth child was too much for the 21 year old, who had haemorrhaged and bled to death, with no real medical provisions there was nothing she could do, other than clean up the mess that had been made, that’s what Hayleigh done, hating every single day of her life, she was 43 looked 20 years older, grey hair and a face with permanent frown lines, because that’s exactly what they were, the sheriff just walked past her, straight to the room where the dead mother lay, 21 year old Janet Vicory, born in Underwood, Died in Underwood and soon no one would remember.

He picked her up easily in his arms and without saying a word, walked past the nurse and out of the building, that’s when Hayleigh broke down and cried, as she had done so many times before, she thought of the young girl in no.13 Hawthorne, and the new residents at no.12, who also had a young daughter, they were the next, she dried her eyes, blew her nose, wondering what Mary Vicory would do when she found out her daughter died, herself a widow, like many of the older women in Underwood whose husbands had the audacity to challenge the authority, that the sheriff, vicar and judge bestowed upon them, Hayleigh walked into the small delivery room, picked up the sleeping baby whose mother had just been taken away,

‘I will care for you sweetheart’ she told her ‘for the first 16 years of your life anyway’

She prayed by then that Underwood would be back to its former glory,

‘I name you Janet’ said Hayleigh ‘after your mum’

Baby Janet stirred but she did not waken.

The sheriff left the building and with purpose walked through the older buildings up to the woods edge where he paused, he sniffed the air, he took six paces into the woods and laid the body of Janet Vicory to rest, he then turned around and walked out of the woods, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the woods fed on the body, and he himself would feel better.

‘Is it wise for them to be dressed like that in this place’ said Peter, he sipped from his second bottle of beer, it was surprisingly refreshing as the late afternoon sun bore down on him, he was referring to Lily and Ivy, who were laid out on loungers in their bikinis.

Both Peter and Eileen looked at Rebecca, who by now was more than tipsy through the amount of wine drunk,

‘Even in Underwood sex is forbidden under 16’ she replied bitterly, her anger aimed at the state rather than the two people she sat with, Peter and Eileen just carried on drinking, sharing in her anguish, but neither had any words of comfort.

‘Then it becomes fucking compulsory’ she cried,

Eileen put her arms around her to comfort her, her own head confused and emotional as a result of seeing her new friend cry mixed in with drinking too much wine.

‘I’ve got to get her away from here, she sobbed, Peter opened another bottle of beer, his thoughts drifting to Lily, his own daughter, he knew than that one way or another, he would not let that happen to his daughter, if he could stop it happening to Ivy, then he would do so, but his family was his priority not the strangers he now sat with, his thoughts were only stopped by a screech of a siren, the two boys stopped climbing on the frame, the two girls sat up from their loungers,

‘What the hell was that’ asked Eileen, Rebecca burst out more tears,

‘Someone’s had a baby’ she wept as she fell from her chair.

Mary Vicory, hadn’t left the house for three days, she lived in Hazel, not too far from where her daughter lay, unable to see her daughter in the maternity hospital, the rules did not allow that, at 42 herself she had only ever Bourne one child, that child, her only child was now in the hospital having her fifth baby, only two of her grandsons had survived, they were housed in the nursery beside the maternity, she had never met them, she couldn’t bring herself to, not with the circumstances to which they were born, to her they weren’t her grandchildren, they were the devils children, and she wanted them to rot in hell along with the devil, if she knew who the fathers were she wouldn’t blame them, but she didn’t want to know who they were, nor did she need to, they may even be dead for all she knew and the fathers were never told if they had a son or a daughter, no she couldn’t blame the fathers, she could easily blame herself, she hoped it would be over soon, her daughter had seen her sons a few times, she had no idea what damage that would have done to her, it was limitless, an everlasting pain, an overindulgence of terror, much too much for a single mind.

She sat in the kitchen where she had spent most of the last three days, drinking wine and chain smoking, blaming herself for her daughter’s life, a life that was still young and yet had mostly been filled with fear, yes she hoped it was over now, her body was riddled with guilt, she hoped it would be a boy so he would be taken away from them, she didn’t want her daughter to bring a girl into this world, to love for her, to care for her, then watch her go through what she endured her own daughter going through, knowing there was not a dam thing you could do about it, that wouldn’t be fair, that wouldn’t be right.